


The other Steiner

by Summonee



Category: Steins;Gate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summonee/pseuds/Summonee
Summary: A random exploration into the question of "What if someone else had Reading Steiner, and they couldn't do anything to change what Okabe was doing?"





	The other Steiner

**Author's Note:**

> Now that a friend has forced me to get AO3, I wanted to try and write a Steins;Gate fanfic about the idea of "What if someone else had Reading Steiner, somewhere where they couldn't know about Okabe's experiment, all they knew was that everything was changing around them horribly." I've got a rough idea on how I want it to continue, but let's see how this goes :D

_Bacon_

It didn't register at first. The smell of bacon is warm and soothing, it brings universally good memories to all those who enjoy it. It took her far too long to realise the source of the dread welling up inside her. 

She lived alone. 

Some weird kind of primal fear she'd never felt before rose evilly within her. Break ins were unfortunately common. But usually all they wanted was the TV. Breaking in and cooking bacon was… some serious serial killer shit. 

Laying completely still, neurons fired to try and calm her down. _Who had the key? Her mum? Her ex?… Both of those are unsettling…_

But she rose with rage. Fuck ‘em, she thought. If they were cooking bacon, they were at the stove. The scrapping confirmed this. Before she took her second step, her adrenaline wore off. 

It was like the worst hangover in existence, like she had just been hit by a months worth of fever all at once. The bar needed the graveyard shift last night, so she hadn’t drunk more than a beer. And besides, even in her party days she’d never felt this bad.

Even with the coning vision, she groped for the only tall, solid object in the room; her cats climb stand. If it was there, her hand phased through it and her head hit the wall with a thunk. 

It was solid, but at the very least it knocked the ‘hangover’ right out of her. A cocktail of emotions surged. Hate, anger; who ever the bastard was, they’d taken her cats stand and that was unacceptable. Fear, confusion; the wall wasn’t the colour she remembered. It wasn’t even the texture she remembered. Back at the apartment it was drywall, she’d spent far too much money fixing holes in the wall born in fits of anger.

“Honey, are you okay?” The melodic voice of some bastard who enjoys early Saturday mornings.

_Honey…?_

She rose again, feeling mostly fine now, and strode confidently into her kitchen.

Knees bent, hands in fists. Fighting stance. Face determined as hell. 

If an immovable object meets an unstoppable force, physics breaks down. The blond in her kitchen was smiling so sweetly that whatever emotion was paralysed the moment their eyes met.

“Morning honey~”, The blonde stuck her tounge out a little. 

“Who the hell are you, and where is my cat?”

“Hit your head, did you? And what cat?” The blonde tilted her head to the side, concerned. 

“Yes, my cat. Fore.” At the very least, the kitchen was how she remembered it. But that unsettled her even more. 

“You… don’t have a cat, at least, not in the six months I’ve been living here,” The blonde walked forward, and raised a hand to feel her forehead. “Are you okay, do you need to go to the doctor?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Unnerved now, the hand was dashed away. 

_And then…_


End file.
